Laurell Hamilton - Hit List

“Things?” I made it a question.

“Whatever is killing the weretigers isn’t human. Whatever injured Marshal Karlton wasn’t human either. What my marshals chased in the woods with you was sure as hell not human. We have a body in the morgue that is charred halfway between human and animal form. Nothing on this case is human, so until I have another word for them, they’re things, perps, monsters. Now get out there and do something useful.” She went back into her office, and we started moving down the hallway like we had a purpose.

“Raborn is going to be trouble,” Lisandro said.

“He’ll try,” I said.

“How do we stop him?” Domino asked.

Edward said, “Execute the warrant; be so good at the job that he can’t come back at Anita.”

“The job is to kill . . .” Ares hesitated, trying not to say the Harlequin . “The killers, right?”

“Yep,” I said.

Ares smiled, a flash of teeth in his delicate face. “We’ll be good at the job.”

The rest of them just nodded. I realized in that moment we were a pack, a pride, we were a unit. We were—us. And for the first time since I understood that it was the Harlequin killing the weretigers, I felt . . . hopeful.

EDWARD WAS AT my right as we walked across the parking lot. Nicky came up on my left. His fingertips brushed mine. I had time to squeeze his fingers before Edward said, “We’ve got company.”

Nicky dropped back a step like a good bodyguard. I knew without looking that Domino was at my back; I could feel him like heat behind me. I was aware of the other men the way I was aware of my surroundings, or men in general, but not the way I was with the other two; they were mine in ways the others were not.

Marshal Newman was leaning against our rental car. He had a nice, noticeable bandage on his forehead. He looked a little pale in the sunlight, so that the few freckles he had stood out against his skin. I hadn’t noticed them last night, or was it two nights ago? I honestly didn’t know what day it was. Newman’s short brown hair looked as if he hadn’t bothered to comb it since he got out of the hospital. He leaned that tall, lanky body on the side of the rental and watched us.

When we were close enough, Edward called out, “How’s the head?” He was back to his happy Ted voice like a new person was walking around in his skin. I was used to it, but sometimes it still creeped me.

“Fine,” Newman said, pushing himself to his feet.

We let it go at that, but Edward and I both knew Newman wasn’t fine. He was functioning, he was well enough to work, but his head probably ached like a son of a bitch. We’d all have given the same answer. He was fine.

“But Karlton isn’t,” he said.

It took me a moment to realize that the last thing I’d heard about Laila Karlton had been waiting to hear back from the tests. “They told me she was going to pull through just fine,” I said.

Newman nodded. “Physically she’s well.”

“Ah,” I said, and I looked down for a moment gathering my thoughts. “So she’s positive for lycanthropy.”

“Yeah,” Newman said.

“What kind?” I asked.

He looked startled. “Does it matter?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Some of the men around me said, “Oh, yeah . . . Very much.”

Newman looked around at the men. “So you guys really are all lycanthropes?”

“They are,” I said, and Newman looked back at me.

“I didn’t ask what kind of lycanthrope she’s going to be; I didn’t know it would matter that much.”

“It matters for a lot of reasons,” I said.

It was Socrates who stepped up and asked, “I heard about what happened to the marshal. How is she taking the news?”

Newman looked at the other man and just shook his head.

“How bad?” Socrates asked.

Newman’s hands clenched around the hat he was still carrying. “I think if her family weren’t here she’d eat her gun.”

“Shit,” I said. I looked at Edward. “What’s the plan now that we have backup?”

“We go back to the last place they attacked us and use one of your friends here to track them.”

“You mean use them like I got to use werewolves to track that one serial killer in St. Louis?” It had worked so well, I’d hoped that it would become more standard for police around the country. I mean, it was like having a tracking dog that could talk to you, but the prejudice against shapeshifters was too deeply ingrained. You could bring a shifter to a crime scene, but you couldn’t bring them in animal form, and in human form their noses weren’t much better at tracking than a normal human being.

He nodded.

“Cool, but the odds of actually finding them close enough to track are pretty remote after all this time,” I said.

“They are, but it’s still a plan.”

“I don’t have a better idea,” I said. I thought about it and then said, “You take some of the men with you, track the bad guys. If you actually find a workable trail, call me.”

“Why won’t you be with us?”

“I’m going to the hospital to talk to Karlton. I need to let her know that her life isn’t over.”

Edward moved me a little away from Newman so we could talk privately. “Since when do you have to hold the other marshal’s hands?”

“Since Micah became the head of the Furry Coalition, and I saw what a difference it can make to have another shapeshifter to talk to when you first find out. Having someone on the other side say, ‘Look, I’ve got it and I’m doing okay.’ It helps.”

“You feel responsible for what happened to her,” he said.

I shrugged. “A little, but I know it will help to talk to me and some of the guards.”

He studied my face. “I don’t like splitting up.”

“Me either, but I’ll have good men with me, and so will you. I’ll check on Olaf, too. I didn’t mean to break him.”

“I didn’t think he’d try you, and that was my fault.”

“What made him feel the need to try his luck with me like that? It was worse than last time.”

“I think it was the rumors about all the men, and that you’re as fast and strong as a lycanthrope.”

“A combination of boyfriend and work jealousy,” I said.

“Yes.”

I shook my head. “Has he decided that I’m not his little serial killer pinup now?”

“I don’t know.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Great, just what we needed on this case.”

“Olaf came into town asking about the rumors of new men in your life. He asked specifically about Cynric.”

“Why especially Sin?” I asked.

Edward looked at me. “Sin?”

“He’s seventeen, and Cynric sucks as a name for a teenager.”

“But Sin?” Edward asked.

I shrugged again. “If he were a different kind of kid he’d be a pale person in black, writing death poetry. I’m not real happy with the nickname either. But what is it about Cynric that bothers Olaf?”

“I think it’s the age.”

“Because he’s a teenager, or the age difference between him and me?” Edward said, “Your guess is as good as mine. He wouldn’t talk about it, but he asked more questions about Cynric. He wanted to know if the rumor that you’d moved a teenage boy in with you as a lover was true.”

“He asked it like that?” I asked.

Edward seemed to think about it, and then nodded. “He asked, ‘Is it true Anita has a teenage boy living with her?’ I said it was, and then he asked, ‘Is he truly her lover?’ Again, I said yes.”

“Has he ever asked about any other specific lovers before?” I asked.

“No, just if you had as many lovers as the rumors say you do; to that, I said, no one could be fucking that many men.”